Hurricane
by ChubbyBunny
Summary: There is a storm raging inside of Vegeta, and Bulma may just be the break that he needs. Rated M for sexual content and language. Inspired by the song, 'Hurricane' by Luke Combs.


Authors note:

I hope you all like this! It's taken me a while and I'm rather fond of it. Please read and review and I will send you virtual hugs!

XOXO,

C.B.

* * *

 _'Hadn't had a good time since you know when._

 _Got talked into goin' out with hopes you were stayin' in._

 _I was feeling like myself for the first time, in a long time._

 _Then you roll in with your hair in the wind, baby without warning_

 _I was doin' alright but just your sight had my heart stormin''_

* * *

The rain pelted against the roof of the training chamber, thunder echoing in the distance as Vegeta wiped the ever pouring sweat from his brow. He'd long since lost track of time. Once the weather report that morning had called for near emergency conditions he'd decided now was a better time than any to lock himself away for several hours in the metal room; if anything to at least to burn off the cabin fever creeping up his spine. He could only sit still for so long without wanting to murder something, so he felt as though he'd done some sort of benevolent service to the world.

The only irritating thing about locked away for so many hours were the thoughts, the somewhat repressed memories that came rumbling as deep as the storm overhead. He'd been practically taken prisoner on this God-forsaken planet; had been unwillingly integrated into some silly band of misfits determined on saving the world. Their leader Kakarot was of the same lineage as him, but had all the grace and poise of the village idiot. How that miscreant lower class Saiyan had surpassed him, the Prince, in raw power to become a super Saiyan was beyond him. But that was why he instructed the earth woman called Bulma to build him the training chamber. Despite her hostile and aggravating personality she'd agreed and encouraged his endeavors. Surely she was aware of what he was intending to do; his plans of immortality had gone awry on Namek but there were Dragonballs here on Earth as well. It was his duty as ruler of his people to be placed back in power again and becoming immortal would only assist him in that endeavor. Earth, while a lowly little planet could in fact be of some use to him. Frieza was no more, so what else was there to stop him? Kakarot perhaps...but once Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyans achieved the super level there would be no one to stand in his way.

Vegeta exited through the electronic doors, the sounds of the storm even louder now. Capsule Corp was one of the safest places to be in conditions like this, so he wasn't the slightest bit concerned. He'd had worse. Much worse. Although, he noted as he passed by a shatter proof window that the sky was pitch black, no stars to be seen. A quick glance at the watch on his wrist (a gift from the annoying Bulma who insisted they were a necessity) told him it was almost midnight. Perfect. He would be alone if went down to the kitchen to raid the pantry.

He outwardly growled however when he noticed there was indeed a light on, the sounds of a radio on low. The music was absurd; whomever was singing had an odd accent he'd never heard before. He managed to creep to the doorframe, peering in to see Bulma, mug in hand on a barstool. And per her usual MO she was wearing hardly anything: a loose fitting white shirt and a ridiculously tiny pair of pink sleep shorts. Vegeta sneered, arms crossing. He didn't understand it. Clothes were meant to be functional. They covered your body to protect it. And here she was, nearly naked just waiting for some predator.

Just as he was about to turn and leave without being noticed, a loud clap of thunder hit shaking the house and Bulma actually yelped. She jumped up, knocking over her stool and whatever liquid was in her cup came splashing out all over her flimsy night shirt.

"SHIT!" She swore through clenched teeth, pulling away the dripping front of her clothes. Vegeta couldn't help it, he barked out a laugh and her head snapped to the doorway, eyes narrowed, "Yeah, yeah... Laugh it up you stupid jerk."

Since he'd blown his own cover there was no use hiding anymore. Vegeta plastered on his best smirk and strode into the kitchen, "Ha. I could have guessed a weakling like you would be afraid of thunder." He pulled open the fridge, seeing there was a platter of steaks with a yellow post it note right on top with his name scrawled across it. At least the blonde woman Bunny (unlike her obnoxious daughter) was good for something. He pulled out the entire thing, shirking utensils and instead grabbed a whole slab of meat with his hands and ripped out a large chunk with his teeth.

Bulma made a disgusted face, reaching down and picking up her stool, "Ew. You could have at least washed your hands you heathen."

Vegeta's face grew hot as Bulma bent over, her shirt riding up her back giving him a particularly nice view of the rounded underside of her ass cheek peeking out from beneath her shorts. He coughed and waved the steak at her, averting his eyes back to his meal so that he would no longer be distracted, "If you haven't noticed, I'm not the one covered in liquid. Speaking of, it's all over the floor. You might want to mop that up."

Ah yes. That was the perfect comeback. Point for Vegeta.

"Shut up you ass-" whatever other insult she was ready to let loose was cut off by another loud boom. Bulma cowered on her stool, covering her ears.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow, still chewing, "Seriously?"

"I-it's just loud." She finally managed to whisper, "I've always hated thunder storms."

"Tch," He'd already finished the first steak and was starting on the second, "weak."

"Whatever." Bulma mumbled, turning the dial on the radio to make it louder. It was that music again; Vegeta realized with some annoyance he didn't mind it as much as he should have. Not that he ever listened to music anyways. The Saiyans were not known for their love of the arts.

Against his better judgement, curiosity won him over, "What is this?" He mumbled, gesturing with the steak again towards the radio, trying to not sound interested.

"Oh, do you like it? It's country." Bulma said, her voice bright, "I like it because it's romantic." She sighed, "I'm still waiting for my cowboy."

"What in the actual fuck is a cowboy? Sounds stupid."

Bulma rolled her eyes, "Oh please. They're hunky men who ride on horses and wear tight jeans and chaps."

Vegeta scoffed, "Sounds stupid to me."

"You don't even know what any of things are! Actually," Bulma smiled, waggling her eyebrows, "you're a little bit like a cowboy, all handsome and rugged."

The Prince froze mid chew; despite the fact that he knew she was teasing him, he was alarmed by the warmth behind her words. And that smile... What was she getting at? Feeling his cheeks heat up, he turned back to the fridge, looking for something...anything to get away from her gaze, "I'll take that as an insult."

Bulma sighed, "Huh, that's too bad," Her voice was suddenly soft behind him, "I really did mean it as a compliment. You're a tough guy, but I know there's more to you than that-"

He spun around and within milliseconds his hand was clutching her throat across the kitchen island. Bulma's eyes went wide, their blueness startling. There was a glimmer of something akin to alarm in her face, but it was quickly replaced by that warmth again. She didn't fear him. She never had. He could crush her right now and she wouldn't care. For some insane reason she trusted him; knew he wouldn't harm her. It made him feel weak. His fingers twitched around the softness of her skin, feeling her pulse throbbing... he was trying to will himself to squeeze and it just wasn't happening.

What was wrong with him?

Her hand wrapped around his outstretched wrist. It was so small...her nails painted a pale pink nearly the color of her shorts. The touch was light and for a brief moment he welcomed it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched when it hadn't hurt. Her fingers moved and she brushed her thumb soothingly over his knuckles.

"I could kill you." He said darkly, fingers twitching again, "it wouldn't take much. You are-."

Bulma's thumb continued stroking his knuckles, "Weak, I know. But if you really wanted to, you would have done it already. I told you, I know there's more to you."

"No, there's not-"

"YES there is." Now Bulmas other hand was touching his face, brushing down his tightly clenched jaw. Vegeta squeezed his eyes shut and with near desperation tried to resist. But it only took a few moments before he pressed his cheek into her palm. Damn it. What was happening? "Come on cowboy," she whispered, "let me in a little."

"I..." He could feel his fingers slowly releasing her throat, trailing them down to her collar bone and running across them with a touch so soft if he didn't know better he would swear it wasn't his hand. Bulma breathed something that sounded like his name, her hand leaving his face and running through the onyx hair at his temple. The music was still playing in the background, and she was still looking at him in that way that made his stomach feel sick. If it wasn't for the island separating them he might just...

He retracted with a snarl, knocking over his platter of steaks to the floor with the sudden movement and stormed out of the kitchen hearing her call his name behind him.

He didn't turn around.

He couldn't face her.

That tiny woman had made him lose his composure even if it was only for a moment. He was a prince, one of the last of an extinct race. His reputation needed to stay intact. Any distractions were unwelcome...

But her hands were so soft.

Unwelcome and unwanted...

But her eyes were bluer than any sky he'd ever seen.

He couldn't afford to be taken advantage of again.

But oh how he wanted her to break him.

That last startling thought caused him to stop in his tracks right in front of his bedroom door, hands tightening into clenched fists. The same hands that had killed thousands she had caressed as if I were the most natural thing in the world. What on earth was this insignificant earth woman doing to him? The door almost buckled after he entered and slammed it shut.

After a time Vegeta managed to lay on his bed staring broodingly at the ceiling, fingers twitching restlessly behind his head. The sound of the rain was making him anxious. There was a time where he would have had no issue eliminating a woman like her; she was brazen, outspoken, dangerous. A Prince like him could not afford to be distracted with such treacherous feelings.

And yet...

Why did she consume his thoughts? He'd done his best to berate her, ignore her, curse her, tease her and yet here she remained. She claimed to see something in him, but what?

A heat began radiating through his palms, an outward manifestation of the turmoil raging inside of him. He needed something, a distraction...

The radio he'd never used on the desk in the corner caught his eye. Deciding that Bulma was probably asleep by now and wouldn't hear the music he rose and made his way to it. The copious amounts of buttons threw him for a moment (obnoxiously unnecessary if you asked him), but after some button mashing the radio blared to life, his fingers rotating the station knob scan until...

There was that music again. The one he didn't mind. He turned the volume down until it was barely audible and this time pulled the blankets on his bed down and crawled beneath them. Wishing these new and unwelcome emotions gone, he shut his eyes and tried to block out his thoughts.

There was a soft knock on the door and Vegeta stiffened. Damnit.

"Vegeta? Are you awake?" The voice was muffled through the door, but he knew it was her.

He was at the door in an instant, pulling it open and seeing her large eyes staring at him. Bulma looked startled, but quickly composed herself, "Hey look, I'm sorry. I don't say that often but-"

He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her inside his room and closed the door behind them. Vegeta pressed her back against the wall, lips seeking hers in the darkness of the room. She let out a gasp, fingers winding into the hair on the back of his head.

"Damn you," he murmured against her lips, hands already pulling down her sleep shorts and palming her wet heat. She mewled, hips bucking, hands trying to pull down his shorts as well.

Vegeta was broken. But now he knew why. It was her doing. She stirred him in ways he thought had died along with his home. Just a child lost among a sea of stars and death, he'd witnessed more in his lifetime than most would in a thousand. None had affected him or caused him to lose any sleep in a long, long time. The life chosen for him had hardened his soul and that was how he had survived after all this time.

But she had broken that. All it had taken was a crack,

"I know there's more to you than that-"

But was there really? She had no clue the things he had done, the man that he was. His fingers stilled against her hardened nub, her breath hot against his neck.

What was he doing?

"Vegeta?" Her voice reverberated against his skin, it was breathy and low, "what's wrong?"

He didn't answer. Eyes closing tightly, he hung his head until it rested against her shoulder. The warmth from her womanhood was strangely comforting against his fingers, sticky and wet. Could he allow this? To lose control with her? It went against everything he'd ever been taught. Then again, everything he knew was told to him by the alien that had destroyed his world. He was free, so why did he still feel caged?

Bulma said his name again, gently nudging his cheek with her nose. He opened his eyes, and she looked into them without fear. Her hand moved from his waist down the front of her shorts, covering his slick fingers with hers. She began to guide him, never once breaking eye contact.

He watched her with fascination, noting the way her thighs clenched around his hand when he hit just the right spot, how her pupils expanded as her breathing became more ragged; her fingers stilled and yet he continued, circling until she shuddered against him, so trusting and un afraid.

The waist of his shorts slipped lower after a few moments, Bulma freeing his arousal to the open air. Her hand encircled him, and he hissed out her name. Morality had never been his strong suit, so boundaries be damned. He pulled away from her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her down on the bed. Within a breath, he was between her legs and slipping inside her.

The sounds of the storm outside and the radio within the walls were soon muffled and lost among the sounds of her moans and his ragged breathing. After a time he managed to growl out her name and spilled himself within her, this slip of a woman who had somehow torn a way around his defenses. Bulma pulled his mouth down to hers and this time he didn't even try to resist, her lips were too soft and he was tired of pretending something within him wasn't changing.

The storm within him had calmed; even if it was only an imperceptible amount. She was the cause and he could no longer hide the fact that he knew this.

It was enough for now.

* * *

 _'The moon went hiding,_

 _stars quit shining,_

 _rain was driving,_

 _thunder 'n lightning._

 _You wrecked my whole world when you came, and hit me like a hurricane._

 _You hit me like a hurricane.'_


End file.
